Lather

on

I wash my hands of you and I.

Scalding water scours scars

where your fingernails once trailed.

I wash my hands of you and I.

Soap traces constellations of suds

like your freckles. like your freckles.

I wash my hands of you and I.

Water revives, refreshes, redeems;

nothing was untouched by you, it seems.

I wash my hands of you and I.

Towel dries hands, but tissue dries tears

that carve scars and constellations.

I wash my hands of you and I.

I wash my hands.

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